


Silver and leather

by ellamason



Category: Les Misérables (Dallas 2014)
Genre: Anal hooks, Everyone is kinky and emotional and awkward, Gags, Kneeling, M/M, Objectification, Post-Seine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 01:16:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13671219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellamason/pseuds/ellamason
Summary: Valjean leaned sideways until could hide his smile in Javert’s shoulder, lips grazing crisp white cotton. “So, uh. You’re a fan of leather, huh?”Javert has a thing for leather. Valjean has a thing for kneeling. No reason why those two kinks can't work together.





	Silver and leather

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Verabird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verabird/gifts).



“So is it my imagination or is this worth about ten times more than anything else in your apartment?” Valjean trailed a hand down the bumpy surface of Javert’s armchair.

He’d never sat in it himself. The faded couch against the wall suited them better when he was visiting. Javert’s long frame stretched out across the length of it, his feet in Valjean’s lap. But the armchair was never quite out of sight. It had a high back and wings and -- of course -- was finished with smooth black leather. He’d been tempted to ask once if it had been salvaged from the a porno set or a raided brothel, but he suspected he’d rather not know the answer.

Javert gave the armchair an uneasy pat, his fingers almost brushing Valjean’s.

“Upholstered it myself,” he said, not quite meeting Valjean’s eyes. “Wasn’t that expensive.”

“It’s good work,” Valjean nodded at it, trying to appreciate the stitching or the sanding of the feet or anything but the-- the _leather_  of it. “Could probably make some money if you wanted to sell it. I could get in touch with a furniture dealer.”

“Not worth it,” Javert said, but wouldn’t elaborate.

Valjean stifled a laugh at that. He leaned sideways until could hide his smile in Javert’s shoulder, lips grazing crisp white cotton as he mumbled. “So, uh. You’re a fan of leather, huh?”

Javert gave a delicate sigh. The kind that Valjean knew not to take too seriously, though he hadn’t yet figured out whether it was a deliberate joke or not. Then he said. “You should see what I’ve got under my bed.”

Valjean peered up at him. He hooked an arm around Javert’s so Javert would know he wasn’t going anywhere. That he wasn’t as easily scared as he let on. “Do I really want to know what you’ve been hiding under your bed?”

Javert bared his teeth and a shiver ran up Valjean’s spine. He appeared to contemplate Valjean for a moment before deciding.

“No. Not yet, at least.”

And then a large palm was on the back of his neck and Valjean’s breath was catching in that way that he hadn’t quite decided how to handle yet. He tilted his mouth up to meet Javert’s, still newly giddy at the slightest press of Javert’s hand at his nape and the rasp of Javert’s beard against his skin. _This is a blessing,_  he reminded himself. _Give thanks for every moment of it._

Javert’s lips were on his, parting as easily as curtains falling open to welcome in the morning. Valjean curled his fingers around Javert’s biceps. And then Javert’s hands were on his hips and pushing him until his back was pressed against the solid wing of the armchair. And for a moment, trapped between flesh and cotton and smooth, rich leather, his breath caught. And then it resettled. Javert’s hands were strong but his kiss was lighter than air. Valjean sighed, letting himself be propped up.

“Not yet,” Javert said, though now there was a hint of regret in his tone. “But trust me: That chair is far from the most valuable thing in this apartment.”

+++

The first time Valjean slipped from the couch to the threadbare carpet and onto his knees, Javert’s eyes had lit up.

“Oh,” Valjean said. “Oh no, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t going to--”

“Quite all right.” Javert smiled tightly. “My mistake.” He drew his knees together and clasped his hands in his lap and Valjean could have wept. He pressed a tentative kiss to Javert’s knee, feeling it quiver a little beneath his lips. It was strangely soothing, to know how easily Javert was affected. Perhaps that meant Javert would see the appeal of this thing he had no name for.

“I’ve been alone for a long time,” Valjean addressed the floor. Hair prickled at the nape of his neck. From above him, Javert’s eyes were fixed on him. “I never imagined I’d have to tell anyone about--”

About those endless nights on his knees in his small room behind the walls of the convent. About the years of wrenching, useless guilt that he could only offer up to the Lord. About the ache that had shifted, somehow, from a burden to a necessity. Between his legs, his own flesh was already stirring at the promise of a long and cruel ache.

“I thought,” he said haltingly. “Perhaps I could... share this with you.”

Javert leaned forward in his seat. For a moment Valjean was afraid he might stand up. Or worse, stoop down to where Valjean had placed himself. But Javert didn’t come any closer, and when he spoke again, his voice had roughened. “What exactly are you planning on doing?”

“When I’m at home, by myself-- I like to kneel.” His voice sounded small. The words that had made sense in his mind and in his heart had slipped sideways into something strange and pitiful.

Javert frowned. “You kneel and pray?”

“No,” Valjean shook his head. “Well, I don't know. I suppose I must have been praying the first time. But this isn’t like that.”

This was no kind of prayer. No part of it was devout. Not sacred, not sincere, not worthy of the gifts he had been given. He caught a glimpse of Javert’s fetish armchair out of the corner of his eyes and laughed out loud, hearing it echo distantly in his ears. “Yeah, this is… something else.”

Javert’s eyes were on him, fixed on the growing bulge between his legs. He smiled a little, as though he’d found the loose thread that would pull apart a tricky knot. “So you kneel. And then what?”

“Nothing.” And, oh god, now he’d gone and got Javert’s hopes up. “Don't look at me like that. Look, why don’t I just--” He reached for the fastening of Javert’s pants but was halted by a firm hand on his wrist

“Oh no. Not yet. You've got me interested now.” Javert’s smile was widening. It was not the curious, vulnerable quirk of a smile that Valjean had only recently come to know. But it was not the cruel smirk he still remembered from Toulon. Javert nudged his shoulder. “Face away from me.”

Valjean shuffled around, eyes lowered, as Javert rose and crossed the room. He spread his legs a little. Already the hardwood floor was aching against his knees. As Javert came back, he held up the newspaper that had been waiting on the flat-pack coffee table Valjean had helped him build. It was still rolled up, and Javert tapped Valjean’s hip with it.

“Do you normally sit on your heels like that?”

Valjean nodded, his voice suddenly caught in this throat.

“Speak up. If we’re going to play this little game of yours, I’ll have a part in it too. Do you normally sit back on your heels while you’re kneeling?”

“Yeah. Yes. Usually.”

“Not in my apartment, you don’t.” The words were calmer than Javert’s usual tone, with almost enough bite to send Valjean’s mind reeling too far backwards until he was steadied by a large hand on his shoulder.

“Come on,” Javert was saying softly. The hand on his shoulder exerted a light pressure and Valjean followed its lead until he was on all fours, eyes squeezed shut and shoulders trembling. “Good.” Large hands moved down his sides and arms, gripping just a little too hard and lingering just a little longer than necessary. “You’re comfortable enough? You can stay like this for as long as you need?”

Valjean’s breath released in a trembling exhale. Words had never come easily to him, and in this moment they seemed to be hovering just out of reach. He nodded instead.

“And how long do you normally stay on your knees at home?” Javert’s voice was low and admiring.

Valjean shivered. How should he know? Evenings at home were a sprawl of empty hours. And on his knees, time lost all meaning.

Thankfully, Javert did not wait for an answer.

“This will be different for you anyway. We’ll try it for a short time, see how you get along.” He rustled the newspaper. “And as requested, I won’t look at you.”

Valjean had just about found his voice to utter a faint “thank you” when he heard the squeak of the couch cushions behind him as Javert say back. His arms, strong as he knew them to be, trembled in the heated air between them. And for a moment, he wondered if he could hold himself up in front of Javert for even a half of an hour. Or even more than a few minutes.

His racing thoughts were interrupted by a solid weight that settled on his lower back. And then another, beside it. Two long legs and two heavy boots. Valjean’s breath shuddered out of him in a terrible rush, his cock throbbing.

“Uh, Javert?” his voice was faint. Behind him, Javert turned a page sharply.

“This isn’t too weird?” Javert said.

“I don’t... think so.”

“I mean, your thing's weird too, right? I thought they might work well together.”

Valjean looked down at his splayed hands. Javert’s boots were heavy on his back but not painful. He swallowed and nodded.

“So you're good to keep going?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. That's enough talk, then,” Javert said. The weight on his back shifted as Javert settled back.

“Are you going to--”

“Quiet now,” Javert said. His voice was firm but not unkind.

Valjean allowed his head to sink down. The rustle of the paper at his back told him that Javert was keeping to his word. Valjean was not being watched, he was simply being given what he had asked for. And Javert was making use of him into the bargain. His hand trembled on the carpet before him. A part of him wished he could bend lower, press his hips into the rough cloth that barely covered the floorboards beneath him. Instead, he closed his eyes. And with the gentle weight of Javert’s boots resting on his back, he silently willed his mind to empty and his body to calm itself.

+++

“Stop,” Javert said as Valjean was settling himself on his knees.

Valjean froze, eyes still fixed on the thin patch of carpet in front of Javert’s shabby couch. So this was the end.

What else had he expected? Javert couldn't be getting much out of it, after all. The minutes Valjean spent on his knees had lapsed into hours as the weeks passed by. It was almost a routine now. Javert pored over the day’s paper, muttering to himself and occasionally cursing out loud at the news. And Valjean would be as quiet and still as he could, having quickly learned that any sound would earn him a disapproving nudge from Javert’s heel. It had been soothing, to sink back into the silence that had once anchored his nights.

And now it was finished. Valjean nodded, keeping his eyes on the carpet. It was fair, he reminded himself. Javert had been generous to indulge him for so long. It was hardly the best use of the precious time they had together. That time could have been better spent out in the fresh air or tangled together under Javert’s sheets until their breath mingled and he forgot, for a little while, about silence and stillness and the weight of leather on his back.

“Okay,” he said, determined to find his voice, to make it painless. It didn’t have to be painless. He had good memories and a perfectly good floor at home. His time with Javert could be better spent. “Thank you for, uh, for putting up with that for as long as you did.”

“What?”

Valjean glanced up and his breath caught in his throat. Javert was in the doorway, arms full of something black and silver. Javert looked down sheepishly at the thing he was carrying and took a step further into the room.

“Don’t freak out,” he said. “But I think it’s time for you to see some of what I’ve been hiding under the bed.”

Valjean raised an eyebrow. But then he stood up, planning to come closer. Javert stopped him again with a barked instruction.

“I’m making a few changes,” Javert said, stepping closer. He dumped his things on the armchair, where they sat in a shiny black tangle. Then he approached. When he was close enough that Valjean could feel his breath on his neck, he reached out to smooth a hand down Valjean’s shirt. Then he moved to the buttons, thumbing open first Valjean’s collar and then moving downward, pushing the cloth out of his way with a hunger that teetered on the brink of _too much_. He paused to press a careful thumb to the tattoo on Valjean’s throat, and Valjean’s breath caught as he moved even closer, marking Valjean’s shoulder with lips and teeth as he pulled the shirt away.

Javert’s hands were on his slacks next, loosening them and shoving them down until Valjean was naked in a puddle of his own clothes. It should have been mortifying. It _was_ mortifying. But Javert’s hands were warm, drawing tingling paths across Valjean’s skin. His mouth was hot enough to set Valjean alight. He hid his face in the crook of Javert’s shoulder, and when Javert’s hands closed around his wrists, there was nothing he could do but murmur silently into Javert’s neck.

“Don’t try to distract me,” Javert was saying, sounding thoroughly distracted. He took a step back and swept his gaze over Valjean’s exposed body, eyes moving over the marks of his past and then lower, until Valjean’s heart was pounding in his chest and he wanted to hide his face all over again. Javert’s smile widened. After a moment’s consideration, he nodded, apparently to himself. “Yes. Yes, this was the right decision. Very well then.”

Valjean breathed, forcing his hands to stay at his sides where Javert had left them. He found a spot on the wall to look at, fixed his feet in place.

“You’re nervous,” Javert said softly.

“I don’t know why,” Valjean shrugged. “It’s not like you’ve never seen any of this before.”

“But you’re still nervous. And you should be.” Javert moved to the armchair, beckoning Valjean to follow him, and picked up a gag. He dangled it from his finger. “You’ve been making too much noise, Valjean.”

This was one of those situations, Valjean told himself, where he shouldn’t laugh. He really shouldn’t. Javert was trying so hard and he’d put up with all Valjean’s… stuff. For so long. There was no reason to laugh at him. No reason at all.

But it was a _gag_. An honest-to-God leather gag with a thick plastic mouthpiece and a strap with a buckle. There was a metal ring attached to the back of the strap, and that sent something jittering through him.

“What are you smirking about?” Javert frowned at him.

“Sorry. Sorry.” Valjean could have hugged him. “It’s just that I was worried you were sick of my--” he gestured helplessly, “my kneeling thing. I thought you’d think it was too freaky or something.”

Javert leveled his gaze at Valjean. “You thought you might have scared me off?”

“Maybe? Or just wasted your time.”

“You thought you might have been too kinky? For _me_?”

Javert glanced pointedly at the leather armchair and the tangle of black leather and metal fastenings. Valjean smiled, feeling giddy and unsteady all at once.

“I didn’t really think that all the way through,” he admitted.

Javert hummed and moved behind Valjean. “Open up,” he said, lifting the gag to Valjean’s mouth, a fingertip brushing his lips. And just like that, it was happening. Valjean didn’t have time to wonder how many men’s mouths Javert had teased open, how many times he’d buckled that strap behind some other guy’s ear. The gag stretched his jaw. It sat heavy on his tongue, tasting of rubber and salt and Valjean’s eyes swivelled sideways, seeking out Javert.

Javert’s breath tickled the back of his neck. He dropped a hand on Valjean’s shoulder and squeezed. Valjean went to his knees. Fuck. It shouldn’t be this easy, he thought. He tried to say something, just to see if he could, but the thing in his mouth stopped up his tongue, leaving him with something distant and muffled. Javert was still standing at his side, and when he leaned sideways, burying his face in the cloth that covered Javert’s knee, a palm came up to caress the back of his head. He made a low sound, nuzzling awkwardly into Javert’s hand and noticed that it was almost shaking.

“So,” Javert was muttering. “Looks like this wasn’t such a terrible idea after all. That’s good.”

The hand on his head slid down to grip the nape of his neck, pull him away from Javert and forward into his usual stance on all fours. Valjean whimpered low in his throat but went where he was guided, settling his palms in front of him. This was good. This was normal. A bit more naked and kinky than usual, but nothing crazy. Nothing to worry about.

He breathed hard through his nose as he heard the not-so-distant rustle of leather sliding against leather. Javert moved to the armchair, picked up the tangle of things he’d dropped on it earlier. As his shiny boots moved back into Valjean’s view, Valjean lowered his head.

A hand on his chin tilted his face up, forcing him back into Javert’s eye line. Javert was crouched in front of him, dark eyes fixed on Valjean’s face. As Valjean followed his finger, he reached forward to draw a finger across Valjean’s stretched lips, tracing a shivering line of sensation over his skin. Valjean couldn’t suppress the answering groan deep in his throat. His cock was filling up, as it sometimes did when Javert had him like this. But now there was no hiding it. When Javert moved around to the armchair, there would be no pretending he wasn’t affected by the things they did.

He let his eyes slide closed. It was easier that way, sometimes. To avoid Javert’s scrutiny and concentrate on the uneven shudder of breath on his skin or the scratch of a beard against his neck. He leaned into the solidness of Javert’s side, let his mind melt a little into the warmth of another person’s body.

“Obviously there’s no point giving you a safeword,” Javert was saying, his voice low and urgent in a way that seemed totally unwarranted. “But if you want to stop at any time, just start bang on the floor. Got it?”

“Mmm hmm,” the gag didn’t even feel as obtrusive as it had at first. The ache in Valjean’s knees was a little sharper, a little more pronounced than usual. But that was good too, in its own peculiar way.

These hours with Javert meant a lot to him. Being able to kneel and be of use carried his mind in unexpected directions. When the weight of Javert’s boots was pinning him in place on all fours, it somehow lifted a greater burden from him. Now Javert nudged his knees further apart and he lowered his head, feeling heat rising in his chest.

Standing behind him, Javert must be able to see everything. And as Valjean obediently spread his legs further, he could only imagine what Javert see. His cock was thick and full already, pressing up shamefully against his belly. And now he felt Javert reach down and press a slick finger between his cheeks. He whimpered into the gag.

Was Javert going to fuck him? They’d done it before -- usually in bed and more furtively than he suspected Javert would have liked. But not like this. For a moment, a sense of outrage welled up in Valjean, followed swiftly by guilt. So maybe Javert wanted to change things up. Was that really so bad?

“Remember what I said,” Javert said again. “If you don’t like this...” He trailed off, and Valjean felt a rustling behind him, the sound of clinking metal and something dragging against the leather armchair. And then Javert’s slick finger was teasing at his hole, getting him ready for something. But instead of the thickness of Javert’s cock between his cheeks, the next thing he felt was solid and cool, pushing smoothly against him.

“Relax,” Javert was saying, not entirely helpfully. “It’s not as big as it feels.”

Valjean shifted on his knees, groaning into the gag as the thing -- whatever it was -- pressed inward. Javert’s hand was on his hip, and he wasn’t sure whether it was steadying him or holding him in place or both. He felt himself stretched further, his muscle being teased wider until the thing was inside him. A strip of chilly metal curved between his buttocks and up to his back. And as he shifted, trying to adjust to the intrusion, he felt Javert’s finger slowly trace its path.

“Can you feel that?” Javert said. “Can you tell what it is?”

Valjean shook his head, his eyes fixed on the ground. The pressure inside him was unlike anything he’d felt before. There was none of the warmth he’d felt when Javert’s body joined with his. Instead this was something inhuman and almost cruel.

There was a thud of boots on the warm floor as Javert moved to crouch in front of him. In his hand was a length of leather. He held it up, then deliberately closed his fist around it and tugged, sending a jolt through Valjean.

“This is attached to a hook,” Javert’s voice was low, and Valjean shivered. “Do you understand what that means?” He demonstrated again, tugging the leather strap. Valjean’s cock jerked in response and he squeezed his eyes closed, ducking his head away from Javert’s watchful eyes.

“Oh no. I’m afraid it’s not that easy,” Javert’s voice was low. A hand cupped his jaw coaxing his head upwards again. Valjean let himself be moved, his eyes still closed and his breath suddenly shallow. For a few moments he could hear nothing but his own breathing, and then Javert’s hand dropped away from his face.

“There,” Javert sounded satisfied. He palmed the back of Valjean’s head, his eyes flicking from Valjean’s eyes to his stretched lips and then back to his eyes. “Try moving your head again.”

Something in his voice told Valjean how it was going to go, but something else -- something lower and almost awe-struck -- made him want to do it anyway, just to see what it did to Javert’s voice. He moved to lower his head, felt something pulling him back. And again, that tugging ache led back to the tool that Javert had buried in him.

“The hook connects to the back of the gag. So it’s up to you how this goes. If you can hold that position, you won’t feel much at all. But if you can’t...” Javert sounded far too pleased with himself. He clapped Valjean on the shoulder. “Head up and your shoulders back, soldier. And, uh, if you don’t mind, I’m going to be watching this time. I know you’d rather I didn’t, but-- well, if you could see yourself, you wouldn’t blame me.”

Valjean didn’t risk nodding. He exhaled shakily, whole body taut and Javert’s tongue flicked out to moisten his lips. He stood, and for less than a moment his crotch was way too close to Valjean’s face. Then the boots were moving across the floor, a little less patiently than usual. The armchair creaked and this time when Javert’s feet settled on his back, there was no rustle of newspaper.

At first there was no sound at all. Just their breath, too loud in the silent room. And then, after an aching pause, the rasp of a zipper.

There was no looking down at the carpet this time. Valjean found that distant spot on the wall again. There was a tiny hook drilled into it, the kind that he’d always assumed Javert had hung a coat or a hat on, or would someday. Now, with Javert’s heels digging into his bare skin and his head held in place by the obscene thing inside him, he wasn’t so sure. Behind him, he heard the soft sound of boxers being shoved out of the way and then a long groan followed by a slick, unmistakable sound. He squeezed his eyes closed, clenching his teeth around the gag.

Would he ever be able to look at Javert again, after this? It was one thing to disappear into the ground, to become something silent and still, a useful but unimportant thing hidden behind a newspaper. Now he was the sole object of Javert’s attention and more exposed than ever before. Sitting back in his armchair, Javert could see everything: From the tremble in Valjean’s limbs and his aching cock to the silver hook that was forcing him open and upright.

Still, he thought as Javert’s scent filled the room, there was more than one way to be useful.

Javert’s breath was coming in short gasps now, the sort that Valjean had heard many times -- in prison, in the back alleys of his town and even in Javert’s bed when Javert thought he was asleep. But it had never been quite like this. Javert was jerking himself in a steady rhythm, heels digging harder into Valjean’s back. It sounded as though he might be saying something, but his voice was mercifully low.

Valjean tried to concentrate on the ache in his knees, to disappear into the empty space that he was used to falling into so easily. But there was nothing to anchor him this time. Instead his mind was filling up with the sounds Javert was making and the smell of his arousal and Valjean’s own answering ache. He kept his palms planted on the carpet, trying to hold onto something solid as things spun out of his control.

Behind him, a shuddering groan and a curse as Javert came. And then at last there was silence. Javert sunk back into the armchair and let out a long, satisfied breath. Valjean tried to picture him, sleepy and sated and relaxed in a way that he almost never seemed to be. A part of him wanted to twist his head around to see, to make the past few minutes into something real and solid. But he was pinned down by Javert’s boots, his head locked in place by the gag and the hook.

It took a few long minutes for Javert’s breathing to even out. Valjean’s own breath was sharper now, his shoulders rising and falling with each exhalation, his blood still pulsing towards his untouched cock. Perhaps Javert had drifted off to sleep, he thought with a twinge of hysteria. Wouldn’t that be everything he deserved? To be used with as little care as he’d asked for. If that meant being left alone and untouched while Javert napped off his orgasm, well perhaps that was the lesson he needed.

Javert had given him just what he wanted, and in return he’d allowed Javert to make him into _this._

His neglected cock throbbed and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to drag himself back to the hard floor of his own apartment, far away from Javert’s warm leather and hot breath. His shoulders trembled a little and the metal that curved inside him pressed insistently.

After a moment, Javert shifted behind him, swinging his feet down. He paced lazily around Valjean until his softening cock was in valjean’s eyeline. Then he crouched down. A sticky thumb ran over Valjean’s stretched lips, pushing the gag a little further into his mouth and leaving a smear of come across his cheek.

“I’d love to ask you to clean this up for me,” Javert said, his voice thick and sleepy. “But that won’t exactly work, will it?”

Valjean whimpered into the gag and Javert leaned in until they were face to face. His eyes were dark and couldn’t seem to find a part of Valjean to settle on, as though there were just too many things to look at. Valjean shuddered and Javert huffed a laugh under his breath, lifting a hand to caress Valjean’s temple with his thumb, the gesture so unexpectedly sweet that Valjean’s whole body ached with it.

“Good posture,” Javert said, his tone absent-minded and admiring all at once. It was hardly a compliment. It wasn’t as though Valjean had any choice in the matter. “I wonder if you can hold that position while I make you come.”

And then he was moving behind Valjean, his hand slipping between his legs and his free hand tracing the hook’s path again. But now every touch was agony, and even the lightest exploratory brush of Javert’s hand was a line of urgent sensation. Valjean sobbed into the gag and Javert chuckled behind him, one finger teasing the rim of his hole where it had closed around the metal.

“Been thinking about this for a while,” Javert said. “All those nights with my legs propped up on your back, hard as a rock in my pants. I didn’t read a word of those newspapers.”

Valjean huffed a shuddering breath around the gag. When Javert’s hand finally closed around him, he groaned, his head falling forward despite his better instincts. The hook pressed further into him, half painful and half shockingly good.

“You made me wait a long time,” Javert said. His hand was sticky from his own release but Valjean was dripping, so hard he couldn’t think properly. “I started wondering if I should have taken that blowjob after all. But the sight of you, Valjean--” he slid his hand down to tease at Valjean’s balls, drawing more sounds than Valjean thought it was possible to make from behind a gag. “Don’t think you were fooling anyone. I don’t have to look down there to see you had it just as bad as I did.”

Javert’s other hand ran up his flank. Then it closed around the leather strap and tugged until Valjean allowed himself to be pulled backwards onto his knees and against Javert’s chest. Javert’s mouth was at the nape of his neck, his hand coming around to jerk Valjean off while Valjean leaned against him, the warm cloth and solid buttons of Javert’s shirt pressing into his back. Javert’s mouth was warm and intent on his skin and Valjean sobbed into the gag, his hands groping behind him to find some part of Javert to hang onto. And then he was coming in short, helpless bursts, one of Javert’s hands on his cock and the other arm wrapped across his chest.

Valjean slumped boneless against Javert, eyes half closed as Javert unbuckled the gag and eased it out of his mouth.

“Careful,” he mumbled as Javert urged him around to slump against his shoulder, his cock trailing wetness over Javert’s pants. “Sticky.”

“Yeah, you’re a real mess.” Javert hummed under his breath, reaching around to work the hook out of him, so Valjean just leaned in further, breathing in the mixed-up scent of leather and fabric softener and all of Javert.

“You probably like this sort of thing,” he accused sleepily. Javert’s fingers were stretching him apart, working the hook out of him and he arched closer, trying to move with it. He groaned, sore and not sore and not at all ready to think about any of it in too much depth. “Weirdo like you.”

“Yeah, sick fuck like me with my box of toys,” Javert said into his ear, sounding unusually affectionate for a sick fuck. Valjean nuzzled into his shoulder, half hoping Javert wouldn’t look too closely and half impossibly grateful for the fact that he would. He sighed sleepily as Javert pressed a kiss to his temple and murmured. “Pretty useful, that hook. But it still isn’t the most valuable thing in this apartment.”


End file.
